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Brian nudges me.“You ready?”
“Yeah.”
It’s after sunset which only adds to the eerie feel of the place.A light jingle of bells rings out as we step inside the dimly lit shop.I almost walk straight into a hanging string of garlic bulbs but manage to see it in time and maneuver around.
“At least we’ve proven we aren’t vampires,” Brian says.
The shop has a sense of Carnival and Mardis Gras and the circus all rolled into one with heavy drapes in purple and gold and green.One of those old Zoltar fortune telling machines sits in the corner, clearly out of service, with its light still blinking.The old dark hardwood floors creak under our feet as we explore.
There’s a glass counter case with shrunken heads inside, and I have no idea how that goes with “costuming.”But here we are.
I get the sense that Benjamin deals more with people in professions that require costumes instead of children and adults on Halloween.Circus and carnival performers.Rock stars.Magicians.Theater people.
There are racks and racks of elaborate costumes that are clearly handmade—not mass produced in a poorly ventilated factory.As I stroke the thick fabrics, I realize they’re made with real artistry and look like the kinds of costumes that could be used for movies.
There are rows of masks—also handmade—and accessories, and then an entire section of the store dedicated to magicians.Trick cards and flash paper and colorful handkerchiefs line one row.There’s a gold sign that suggests making an appointment to see the private collection, which I assume is the more expensive professional magic equipment.
It may be hidden in part because it’s so expensive, but maybe also to keep the tricks of the trade a secret from curious members of the public who might wander in off the street.With the Internet it’s got to be harder than ever to do stage magic and wow the crowds.
I turn and nearly knock over a rack of white face makeup when I hear a voice.
“Can I help you?”I’ve never heard these words sound more sinister than they do in this moment as a tall middle-aged man with pale white face make-up and heavy black eyeliner emerges from a back room, through a bamboo curtain.A black cat jumps to the counter, curling her tail around her feet and glaring at us.We must have interrupted her sleep because she yawns dramatically then goes back to glaring.
“I heard you make Krampus costumes,” Brian says, approaching the counter and dropping the gold business card on the glass as though it’s a ticket to ride.The cat taps the card a few times with one paw then hisses at it.
Benjamin scratches the cat behind her ears, and she settles down.He raises a dark brow at Brian.It’s a supervillain eyebrow, and I wonder if he’s wearing a costume right now or if this is how his face really looks all the time.
“It’s the first week of December, I’m afraid I don’t have time to make any more Krampus costumes.”He says this as though we are quite stupid to even make such a request.
“We just learned about the Krampus Run,” I say, as though my lack of information will change his mind or how time works.
He sort of sneers at me then goes back to Brian, as if he’s the kind of man who only speaks seriously and directly to other men.
“As I said, the costumes are quite ornate and require an enormous amount of work, and I’m not taking on any more private clients right now.”
“I’ll pay you half a million dollars,” Brian says.
I work to keep my face blank.I did suggest to him that we might have to pay contract kill level dollars to get this done on such a short time crunch, but I didn’t think he’d offer to drop half a million for it right out of the gate.I’m also a little insulted.I mean, he paid five million when he bought me.I don’t think I fully realized until just now how willing Brian is to pay ridiculous amounts of money for things he wants without flinching.
As far as he’s concerned, money is just a tool, and there’s always more of it.
At this rate, Brian could just pay someone else to kill Dante and our problem is solved.But there’s no way my guy won’t take out his own trash.He wants to make sure it’s done right.He’s conscientious that way.
Benjamin just stares at Brian as though he didn’t say anything at all.He continues to pet the purring cat.Finally he blinks and says, “That’s a very unusual offer, Mr…”
I tense, waiting to see if Brian is going to take the bait and offer this guy a name.Surely not.
“Sloan,” Brian says.“Brian Sloan.”Guess I was wrong about that.
He pulls a sharpie out of his pocket and flips over the business card to write down the number of his current burner phone.“This number will be good for a few weeks.Call me when it’s done.”
The proprietor looks back and forth from Brian to me and then back to Brian.I could swear some kind of recognition lit his eyes when Brian gave his name, and I don’t like that at all.
He swallows hard and says, “Of course, Mr.Sloan.I can have the costume ready by the fifteenth.”
Brian claps him on the side of the arm.“That’s a good man.And, I need two.One for her.”He nods in my direction.
Benjamin’s gaze cuts briefly to me, and that sneer is almost back in place before he catches himself.“Of course.That shouldn’t be a problem.”
